


Early States

by LongestFormCensus



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: 2008 Campaign Era (Crooked Media RPF), M/M, Reunion Sex, barely-developed relationship, long distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LongestFormCensus/pseuds/LongestFormCensus
Summary: Impossibly, Jon is waiting for him when he gets off the plane.-Tommy comes back from Iowa. Jon has been waiting.





	Early States

Impossibly, Jon is waiting at the airport when Tommy gets back from Iowa.

 

He didn't bother with a sign, obviously, but he’s there all the same, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his fall jacket. If Tommy hadn’t been getting on a plane, he would have put shorts on, this morning. Fall came faster to Chicago than Des Moines, and already the cooler weather is leaching the tan from Fav’s face, making him look pale and serious.

 

Tommy feels a pang, somewhere deep but unimportant, that he's missed spending the last golden days of summer with him.

 

“Hey,” Tommy says, pushing duffel bag further behind him so he can hug Jon “miss me?”

 

“Dunno how we managed without you,” Jon says, cheeky, and then they’re crashing together, briefly; long enough for Tommy to squeeze both arms around Jon’s narrow, boney shoulders before letting him go.

 

“Should take you out tonight to celebrate your grand return,” Favs says, stepping back but keeping a hand on Tommys shoulder longer than he should, “get some of the team together, have a couple of drinks all together. You can regale us with stories of your grand victory.”

 

Mostly what Tommy wants to do tonight is lie on top of Jon, press his nose into the soft spot behind his jaw, and stay there for about  eighteen hours. Sleep optional.

 

“I kinda feel like I smell like a plane,” Tommy says, “can we just go back to the flophouse so I can have a shower and order a pizza instead?”

 

Jon grins, crooked, and ducks his head like he's stopping himself from smiling wider, and says “sure.”

 

“Get everyone together another night,” Tommy says.

 

“Sure.” Favs says again, “got your bags and all?”

 

Tommy nods, and Favs leads them both out of the airport, and into Chicago’s fall.

 

-

 

As always, Tommy feels about a hundred times more human after a shower. Especially after he’s out of work clothes, just in the worn-thin sweats he never leaves the house in.

 

Jon, who has also made the transition from slacks and a button up to sweats and a college hoodie, is set up on the laptop on the couch. When Tommy re-emerges from his room, damp haired and smelling like- mountain spring, or glacier dew, or whatever the hell his body wash was supposed to smell like, Jon is staring at his screen, chewing on his thumbnail. Time and campaign speech writing wait for no man, Tommy supposes. God knows press duties rarely aligned with what Tommy would consider the ideal work-life balance. Instead of bugging him, Tommy wanders into the kitchen and calls the pizza place around the corner, rummaging in the fridge for a beer as he talks on the phone. 

 

He walks back into the weird communal space they’ve stuffed with couches and someone’s parent’s old TV, and holds a beer out to Jon.

 

“You get green peppers on it?” Favs asks, resigned, taking the bottle.

 

“Its my celebration back dude, I think I get to order whatever I want on my pizza,” Tommy says, and takes a drink, “besides, they're only on half, don't be such a baby.”

 

Jon smiles at Tommy, and fiddles with the neck of the bottle.

 

“You good?” Tommy asks

 

“Man, I'm glad you’re back, I am but-”

 

“-I got it,”

 

“-i really gotta finish this, its not that I don't want to-”

 

“Hey. Jon. I get it.” Tommy says, “really. Chill out and finish the speech. I’ll be here when you’re done, I'm not gonna fuck off back to Iowa while you’re finishing Tomorrow's remarks.”

 

“Meant to finish them this morning,” Jon says, “but then-”

 

“I get it,” Tommy says again, taking another drink, “now stop talking to me and finish the damn speech. I have emails to read, you know, it's not like you’re abandoning me to solitude on the couch.”

 

“Alright,” Jon says, “far be it from me to distract you from that.”

 

“God forbid,” Tommy says, fishing his blackberry out of his pocket. If, when he and Favs are finished adjusting, Tommy’s knee ends up over top of his thigh, close enough that every time Favs reaches for his beer their arms brush, neither of them mention it. If Jon’s fidgeting lessens after that, neither of them mention that either.

 

Jon is done, or done enough, by the time the pizza arrives. He’s the one that gets the door, wont let Tommy get up for it when the bell rings, pays for the pizza. He opens the box onto the coffee table, spinning it so he gets the side without green peppers.

 

“Welcome back,” Favs says, “really.”

 

“Didn't getcha anything,” Tommy says apologetically, taking a slice.

 

“What, not even a keychain from the airport?” Favs says, “I think I’ll survive somehow, Tommy.”

 

“Still.” Tommy says, “next time.”

 

“Yeah, next time you pull off an historic and unbelievable victory in a state we barely thought was in play, I'll expect a magnet at least,” Favs says, folding his slice of pizza, in half “dude. It's not a thing.”

 

Still, favs deserves- something, for putting up with Tommy vanishing on him for three weeks straight. Something for Tommy leaving barely a month into their nebulous  _ this _ , that neither of them have figured out yet.

 

“I mean, I hear good things about Texas this go around,” Tommy says, “maybe I’ll get you a hat if he sends me out there.”

 

“We always hear good thing about Texas,” Jon says, mouth full of pizza “I wouldn’t trust that yet.”

 

“Or ever,” Tommy says.

 

“Or ever,” Favs agrees, “But if you get us Texas, I’ll buy  _ you _ a magnet.”

 

“What, from Chicago? If I wanted a Chicago magnet I think I could have bought one by now,” Tommy says.

 

“I dunno, it sounds like we might be taking the whole damn campaign on the road soon, I might not be in Chicago this time next month." Jon says,  “We’re more likely to be traveling together than not, soon.”

 

“That’ll be better,” Tommy says. “I still expect a magnet, if we get Texas.”

 

“You think it sounds better now, but wait ‘till it’s thirty of us and the senator all trying to do work in the same campaign bus,” Jon says, peeling the label of his beer off with one thumbnail,

 

Tommy thinks about it for a second. “Nah,” he says, taking another slice of pizza, “Still better, I think.”

 

Tommy’s not really sure there would be any trade he could make that ‘with Favs’ could trump ‘not with Favs’; campaign bus stink and all. He’s not sure how traveling with Favs four hours a day and working close to him another ten could be a downside. He carefully doesn’t think about the possibilities of the remaining ten hours of the day.

 

“Might get sick of it by the end,” Jon says.

 

“Of the bus, for sure,” Tommy says, “But I’ve stuck with the senator this long, I’m not about to jump ship now.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Favs says.

 

“I know,” Tommy says, “But what I mean is- I’m not the kind of person who’s gonna just up and leave when things get busy.”

 

“I know,” Favs says, and then again, quieter, “I know.” 

 

“I’m the one that left for three weeks, I don’t know why you think you having to work on a speech outside of office hours is gonna be the thing that puts an end to this.”

 

The other possibility, of course, is that Favs is the one who doesn’t want to do this anymore, and is looking for a polite way out. Tommy sits back to give him time to say so, if that’s what he wants. He gets it. It would suck in every conceivable way, but Tommy would understand.

 

Instead, Favs drains the rest of his beer and says “Are we taking this to your room or are you gonna make us both climb three flights of stairs to mine?”

-

 

Tommy’s room, as it turns out, is just how he left it. Slightly messy, slightly drafty, and much improved by Jon being in it with him. Especially improved, tommy thinks, slightly dry mouthed, by Jon being shirtless in it. 

 

“What,” Favs says, holding his sweater in both hands, arms springing up in goose pimples.

 

“Nothing,” Tommy says, and then correcting himself; “You look good.”

 

Favs lets his sweater drop as Tommy crowds closer and kisses him, pushing them both down to sit on the edge of Tommy’s bed, hands against Jon’s sides. After three weeks of not touching him at all, the narrow expanse of Jon’s chest seems overwhelming. Tommy skates his hands over it, thumbing a nipple to feel Jon moan into his mouth, to feel his chest shiver under his hands. 

 

Tommy dips his face down, pressing kisses across his collarbone, his neck. He kind of wants to just press his face into the middle of Jon’s chest and stay there for an hour or five, but that seems like it would be too weird for right now. Instead, he sucks a hickey into the top of Jon’s chest, below any collar line, out of sight, just for him and for the way that Jon’s breath hitches and his hands clench against the side of the bed when Tommy gets his teeth into him. 

 

He pulls back, after, to run his thumb over the mark on Fav’s chest. It makes him a little embarrassed and a lot crazy to see the mark on Favs. He's giving hickies like he’s in highschool again, like he’s just discovered kissing and lips and teeth on someone else’s skin, drunk with the realization. He presses it lightly, and then kisses the mark again. 

 

“Welcome back yourself,” Jon says, amused.

 

“Sorry.” Tommy says, embarrassed.

 

“Don’t be.” Jon says, getting his hands on Tommy’s shoulders. “I mean. Do be if they’re somewhere the press can see em, but I think you’re pretty safe there.”

 

Tommy hums, and spreads his hands out over Jon’s chest again, his narrow boney shoulders, tracing the lines of his neck.

 

“You just gonna touch me all night?” Jon asks, but he’s got a flush high on his cheeks, so he can’t be that mad about it.

 

“I sorta thought that was the idea, yeah,” Tommy says, skating his hands down Jon’s chest, over his sides, around his hips, “Did you have other plans?”

 

Tommy slips his hands around him, slides them under Fav’s waistband and grabs Jon’s ass.

 

“Kinda wanted to get dicks involved eventually,” Favs says, a little reedy, like he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling of Tommy’s hands on him.

 

“We’ll get there, jesus,” Tommy teases, and squeezes his ass, “don’t rush me.”

 

He gets it, though. For all he wants to spend as long as possible, with his hands on Jon’s chest, with his mouth against his neck, he also wants to press him down on the bed and suck him off till he’s howling right fucking now. It makes wish absurdly that they were both seventeen, that Tommy could get him off three, four five times in a night, that he’d never have to stop touching him.

 

Tommy leans back to pull his own shirt off, and then nudges Jon back on the bed, so Tommy can crawl on top of him, chest to chest, and kiss him. Jon makes a tiny little noise, nearly swallowed by the kiss, and wraps his arms around Tommy’s back. Jon’s a good kisser, Tommy has learned, and now is no exception, pulling Tommy closer to him, sinking his teeth gently into Tommy’s lower lip.It’s easy to get lost in this, Favs scratching lightly at his back, kissing him deep and dirty. 

 

Tommy moves up just a fraction so he can press a thigh up between Jon’s legs. Jon, reacts the way Tommy knew he would- with a strangled groan and a thrust up to meet him.

 

“God,” Tommy says softly, grinding down against him, “look so fucking good, missed you, missed you like this.”

 

It’s maybe unfair to say that while Jon is gasping for breath and holding onto Tommy's shoulders for dear life, but Tommy has never not once been in his right mind around Jon either.

 

“So fucking hot Jon,” Tommy says, tracing Jon's neck, his jaw with one hand, slipping his thumb into his slick red mouth, “bet you could come just like this, huh? Not even out of your pants, just grinding against me just like that.”

 

He punctuates this statement by pressing harder against Jon’s dick, hot and hard against his thigh. Jon moans around his thumb, hips thrusting up helplessly. His hand looks huge against Jon’s face, bracing his jaw, thumb vanishing into his hot wet mouth. Jon runs his tongue around his finger, hot and slick and it makes tommy thrust against Jon’s hip.

 

“Jesus,” Tommy says, and to keep himself from saying any of the other things he wants to say, things like ‘baby’ and ‘pretty’ which he’s not sure Jon would like, he dips down to kiss him, finger still in his mouth. 

 

“You wanna?” Tommy asks, rolling his hips again, pulling another moan out of Jon’s throat. Tommy feels, as always, a little crazy at being able to make favs blush and moan like that, to strip the words from him and make him pant and moan against him, “You wanna come just like this?”

 

Jon nods, panting, so Tommy rocks against him again, setting a rhythm that has Jon grabbing desperately at his back.

 

“So fucking good,” Tommy says, voice rough, staring at Jon’s face, eyes shut, mouth hanging open, cheeks pink “ _ Jon,” _

 

Jon digs his nails into Tommy’s back, pressing them closer together groans, and comes apart under him, legs clenched and trembling around Tommy’s thigh as he comes.

 

It’s not the hottest thing that Tommy’s ever seen, but its top ten, easy. Top five. 

 

Tommy's briefly tempted to do the same damn thing; just rut against Jon’s thigh until he comes, with Jon boneless beneath him. But his dick hurts in his pants, and as mindblowingly fucking hot it is to see the wet spot on Fav’s pants, he really doesn't want to deal with that part of the cleanup himself. 

 

So he kisses Favs jaw and rolls off, pushing his pants down with one wet thumb, and kicking them and his boxers off together. He rolls back over, pressing his dick against Jon’s hip with a groan. Jon hasn't even stopped breathing heavy yet, but reaches down clumsily for Tommy’s dick when he feels him press against his side. Tommy fucking missed him. 

 

Jon’s too fucked out to do any sort of fine detail work, but he presses his open mouth to Tommy’s neck, a clumsy mockery of a kiss. Just as importantly, he wraps his long fingers around Tommy’s dick, running his thumb over Tommy’s slit and making him shake against his side.

 

“Yeah,” Jon says into Tommy’s neck, “yeah Tommy, c’mon.”

 

Tommy would be embarrassed about how ready he is to pop off, just grinding against Favs, nothing fancy, just Jon’s hand gripping him just right and twisting on the upstroke, but Jon came against his leg with his pants still on, so he thinks the bar for dignity tonight is pretty low. Then, Favs sinks his teeth into Tommy’s collarbone, and Tommy stops thinking about anything except panting into the pillow, and thrusting shallowly into Fav’s grip.

 

He comes too soon, against the soft skin of Jon’s stomach, all over his knuckles, face tucked into Jon’s hair. He’s blearily aware of Jon wiping his hand clean on his sweatpants, and then wriggling out of them, tangling his newly naked legs with Tommy’s. He lets Tommy cling to him, hot arms around sweaty torso, which should probably qualify him for some sort of award, especially since Jon cards his fingers through Tommy’s hair as Tommy octopuses himself around him. 

 

“Fucking hell,” Tommy says, eventually into the middle of his chest, “missed you.”

 

Jon laughs, soft, “Missed you here too. Try to keep fucking off to Iowa to a minimum?”

 

“I think we’re good for the next four years,” Tommy says, “No promises about not fucking off to other places though.”

 

“Well I’m not gonna make you promise that, that’d be unreasonable,” Jon says, and then scoots down a little, so both their feet are hanging off the edge of the bed, and so that he’s close enough to kiss Tommy’s face. He does, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s cheek before pulling back, just looking at him.

 

“It’s only going to get busier from here, you know.” Tommy says. Close like this, he can see every detail of the bags under Jon’s eyes, every eyelash against his cheek, Every follicle of stubble on his jaw. He has a zit in the middle of one eyebrow. He looks exhausted. He looks fucking gorgeous. 

 

“I know,” Jon says, “I have a magnet from Texas headed my way though. I think that’ll keep me going.”

  
"I thought you owed me a magnet, if I got Texas," Tommy says.  
  
"Whatever. We'll figure it out."


End file.
